What's Love
by lalalyds2
Summary: This is a story about two hearts breaking to a Tina Turner song. Previously written on the fic Competition Isn't A Thing, It's Everything.
1. What's Love

_Previously on my oneshot fic called Competition Isn't A Thing, It's Everything._

 _Enjoy._

 _Or cry._

 _As an angst writer, I prefer both. ;)_

* * *

They're up against the wall in a bathroom, Beca and Kommissar, and Beca swears the world is on fire, because all she feels is hot, just _everywhere_.

Kommissar's lips are burning on hers, whether from alcohol or desire Beca doesn't know, but she's too busy to care.

Everything's blurred and Kommissar's hands never stop moving along her body.

It's sinful.

Beca never wants it to stop.

Lips are bruising and swelling and _bleeding_ from biting teeth.

Murmured praise escapes from Beca's lips every time she breathes, and it's appreciated on her neck.

Clothes are loosened, not enough, and bodies clash even closer together.

Teeth on Beca's earlobe, a tongue licking around an ear stud only to bite the abused skin again.

"I could get used to this." Beca mumbles against the oh so soft skin of the Kommissar's neck.

"I'd _love_ getting used to this." She says as the blonde moves her focus to the Bella's collarbone.

Perhaps she's drunk, or too melted in lust to think straight, but her brain loses its filter even more than usual.

"I could get used to loving you." She whispers softly.

She surprises herself with just how true her statement is.

The lips on her collarbone freeze.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Kommissar's hooded eyes meet those of the shocked brunette's.

"Alberne maus," she says clearly, suddenly composed.

Suddenly icy.

"This is just sex. What's love got to do with it?"

She pats Beca's cheek gently.

It stings.

She straightens out the mortified girl's disheveled clothes, the tenderness of her gesture like salt on a wound.

Raking her fingers through her hair, she checks her lipstick in the mirror.

Satisfied, she walks out of the bathroom, leaving Beca alone and gaping after her, her words still ringing in the air.

 _What's love got to do with it?_


	2. Got To Do With It?

_A continuation of my little drabble named What's Love. You didn't think I'd leave it like that, right? We need Kommissar's perspective too. The ending shan't change though. ;)_

They're against the wall of a bathroom, Kommissar and Beca, and Kommissar swears the little Bella undone in her arms is a divine gift.  
She doesn't deserve such a gift, she's not good with beautiful things.  
So she promises herself that she won't open her mouth.  
Unless it's open because Beca's lips are devouring her.  
But she won't let her black words poison this little mouse.  
Not this time.  
"You're so good at this," Beca murmurs. "And you taste like vanilla."  
Kommissar smiles at the brunette's words before kissing her graceful neck.  
Beca's pale skin is now peppered with purple marks, Kommissar would be proud of her artwork if she wasn't too busy making more.  
She wraps herself further around Beca, pulling her closer.  
She nibbles on her earlobe, delighted to find studs and piercings puncturing through the creamy skin.  
It's deliciously naughty.  
She licks around it, the metal leaving a taste on her tongue.  
Then she bites it.  
"I could get used to this." Beca mumbles, her lips tickling against the blonde's neck.  
Those words make Kommissar nervous, so she focuses on the ridges and dips of Beca's collarbone instead.  
"I'd _love_ getting used to this." Beca says, louder this time.  
The utter _confidence_ that this heated mess will happen again pushes through the Bella's gentle voice.  
It buzzes in Kommissar's mind, unsettling her.  
Beca's head falls back as Kommissar keeps up the assault on her clavicle, but try as she might, Kommissar can't go back to the blissful lust she'd been in from the beginning of their impromptu lip lock.  
Angry voices shout over themselves in her mind, stirring her into a panicked frenzy of doubt and anxiety.  
She just hopes Beca doesn't say anything else. Maybe then she'll stop thinking so much.  
"I could get used to loving you." Beca whispers softly.  
And she sounds absolutely sincere.  
 _Shit._  
Kommissar freezes, her eyes squeezing shut.  
It's too bad, as her view had been quite lovely.  
She nearly blacks out from terror at such genuinely pure emotion falling from the brunette's bleeding lips.  
Then the darkness sharpens and flows through her veins like ice. Her body reacts in defense.  
And her best defense always was offense.  
She lets her eyes drift over the precious present she'd only been able to hold on to for too short a time, already mourning the absence of the girl's soft curves under her hands and the flustered hands ghosting over her skin.  
She finally looks into Beca's eyes. Shock and vulnerability both look back at her.  
It's too much.  
She has to get out of here.  
 _Now._  
"Alberne maus," she says slowly.  
The words drag to the ground from her lips, leaving invisible cuts in their wake.  
It's excruciating.  
"This is just sex. What's love got to do with it?"  
And with that, the metaphorical axe drops.  
The look of horror in Beca's eyes burns itself into Kommissar's memory.  
Now to say goodbye.  
She pats the smooth cheek for the first and last time, and for the sake of her sanity she ignores the wetness pooling in her mouse's eyes.  
She can't resist fixing Beca's clothes, they're so adorably mussed.  
She finishes that, but she can't bear to tear herself from the brunette's presence, as masochistic as that is.  
Dragging her fingers roughly through her hair, she steels herself to leave.  
In the mirror, her lips look positively ravished.  
She wipes off Beca's lipstick.  
She really has to leave now, truly.  
The stare on her back is suffocating.  
So she leaves.  
Her words repeat themselves in her mind. She tries to rationalize her cruel response to such an honest slip of tongue.  
If she repeats it to herself enough times, she'll believe it, right?  
It was just sex. Nothing more. Love doesn't exist.  
She doesn't need it.  
 _Damn._


	3. Who Needs A Heart

Beca knew Kommissar would be at Worlds, she's always known that, but _god_ , it's painful seeing her again.  
Beca thought she'd shaken off the hurt from- whatever it was- but seeing Kommissar walk into the hotel is a punch to the solar plexus.  
She can still remember the sensation of soft lips and biting teeth on her skin.  
Her hands tremble as DSM passes her by.  
Kommissar never even looks at her once.

Empty hotel hallways echo with Beca's footsteps. She's not lost, just deep in thought. A thousand different things fly around her mind and she can't focus on any of them and everything's getting louder till-  
"Is it not a little late to be up, kleine maus?" Kommissar's mellow voice asks from behind her.  
She jumps slightly before whirling around to face the tall woman.  
She's still achingly beautiful.  
Beca wishes she'd thought to put on some makeup before she'd left her room.  
"Ugh, you're like a tiger, sneaking up on people like that! It's creepy!"  
Kommissar quirks her right lip, an imitated half smile, but quite not the same.  
"How are you finding Copenhagen? Different than America, I'd imagine."  
Beca hums, not really saying anything. "Have you found the food to your liking?"  
"So that's it, you're going to make small talk?" Beca asks, completely ignoring Kommissar's attempt at casualty.  
"What else is there to discuss?"  
"Don't do that. Don't pretend ignorance. You hurt me, at the riff-off, you intentionally hurt me for no other reason than me accidentally saying something stupid." Beca says, not stopping for breath as she releases all the frustration that's been eating away at her.  
"I know what I said was really personal and weird because we barely even know each other, but you knew even then that I can't keep my mouth shut around you and all my coherent thought flies right out the window."  
Beca takes a deep breath to calm down.  
It doesn't work.  
"Also, you knew I had a boyfriend, you saw me kiss him that night. And now I can't kiss him because you're still in my mind, reminding me that I almost _cheated_ on him. And I still don't know how to tell him. But you, you knew I was in a very committed relationship, so you must have guessed my little tryst with you wasn't some random fling. So to play with me like that, to mess with my head even more than you already do, that's all kinds of sadistic."  
Kommissar never says a word as Beca rants, just letting the little brunette's words crash into her like a raging sea. She is the mountain though, and her face never breaks its emotionless stare. She doesn't crack.

"I have been internally screaming for _months_ because of what you said." Beca continues, angrily wiping at the occasional salt drop sliding down her cheek.  
"Because it wasn't the words, you know. It wasn't the words that hurt. It was the way you said them. You knew what I was putting at risk just by kissing you, and you threw it in my face like that risk was _nothing_. You made it seem like that was my _punishment_ for blurting out my feelings. But it was an accident and a mistake. And you were _cruel._ You know the worst part?" Beca laughs bitterly.  
"The worst part is that I _forgave_ you. What kind of twisted shit is that?" She whispers that last part, but it carries through the halls, echoing her question over and over again.

It's quiet for a long moment, Kommissar's face as impassive as ever, and Beca realizes just how manic she sounds. She wants to backpedal so badly it hurts, but she can't take back her words now.  
"Kleine maus… I apologize for that night. I won't excuse my actions, for I had fully comprehended what position you were in, I knew what I was doing, and I'd meant to wound you. That was not my initial intention, but that does not matter. I am… sorry." Kommissar's voice is soft and slow and gentle, but empty.  
The words seem sincere, but there's nothing there, no feeling behind it.  
Beca sniffs, her eyes red and irritated, though they're finally dry.  
A heavy silence settles between the two of them, Kommissar only breaking eye contact when her phone rings in her pocket. The sudden noise makes Beca jump again, and she winces at how awkward everything is.  
She was supposed to be chill.  
"You should probably get that." She mutters, Kommissar pulls out her phone and pushes the ignore button.  
"You still look unhappy." She says, Beca laughs without humor again.  
"That's because I _am_ unhappy. You just waltz around, all composed and controlled with your magic apology that doesn't mean anything because you're so _fucking_ robotic. I don't know whether to forgive you or hate you. You're confusing. Why are you so emotionless?"  
Kommissar actually winces at that, though barely, and Beca nearly apologizes for everything she's said that night.  
Instead she sighs, a hand reaching up to rub her eyes.  
She's so _tired._

"If I have learned anything," Kommissar says ever so quietly, control slipping, her eyes dark with some hidden meaning Beca can't figure out.  
"It is that things do not last out in the open. They are quickly devoured by others and ruined. So it best to act as though you have nothing to give."  
Beca bites her lip, thinking on Kommissar's words. The blonde murmurs a farewell and starts to walk away.  
"Isn't that lonely?" Beca asks.  
Kommissar pauses, her voice clear even though her back is turned.  
"I am always busy, so I am never alone."  
"But what about when you need to cry?" Beca persists. "How do you keep people from seeing you cry?"  
Kommissar starts walking again.  
Controlled.  
Commanding.  
Alone.  
"The answer to that is simple," Her voice sounds empty again. Empty and cold.  
"I do not cry at all."


	4. When A Heart Can Be Broken

_The fourth and final part of my What's Love Series. Enjoy._

* * *

Time can be funny in dreams.

 _"Luisa, meine liebling. My perfect girl." Luisa's mother blurs in and out of focus as she coos over her three year old daughter._

Then the dream changes.

 _"Remember Luisa," her papa tells her the night before school. "It does not do well to brag, if you want to be called the best, you have to be the best. And to be the best, you must be strong."_

A different dream, a different memory.

 _"Little Luisa, stop crying." She's back in her dance academy now, an older ballerina looking down at her in scorn._  
 _She sniffles, pale little hands reaching up to wipe away the tears staining her cheeks._  
 _It does nothing to stop the river that keeps dripping from her eyes._  
 _"I can't." Her voice is soft and high, still not matured yet._  
 _"Tch. You having nothing to cry about, you're the teacher's pet."_  
 _The older girl's hand caresses Luisa's cheek gently, wiping another stray tear from her face before slapping her as she pulls back._  
 _It's not hard enough to leave a mark, but it stings._  
 _"Here is a life lesson then, kleiner idiot. Crying gives you nothing but red eyes. Do not delude yourself into thinking it does anything but make you look weak. It does not make you better, it makes you pathetic."_

Another blur, another change.

 _This time, she's older, and lips are on her neck._  
 _"Say it again," a voice begs her, dark with hunger and lust. "Please."_  
 _"I love you." She whispers, moaning as the lips move lower._  
 _"Again."_  
 _"I love you."_  
 _"Do you mean it?"_  
 _"Ja."_  
"God, _you're so hot."_  
 _It's her first time._  
 _She wakes up alone._  
 _Those desperate lips never speak to her again._

* * *

Her eyes fly open, a dark hotel room ceiling greets her.  
Her body is stiff, and she groans quietly as she relaxes the tense muscles.  
She checks her phone, blinking as her eyes adjust to the glare.  
It's five in the morning, thirty minutes earlier than when she usually gets up.  
She moves quickly through the room as she gets ready, leaving a sticky note on Pieter's snoring forehead, closing the door with the quietest of clicks.

* * *

The rumble of the hotel's cheap treadmill and the music blasting through Luisa's earbuds drown out her dreams.  
The sweat on her brow and the pounding in her knees keeps her distracted from the bothersome memories.

 _Why are you so emotionless?_

Beca's words circle her thoughts, she runs faster.  
She doesn't understand the little Bella.  
Beca is small and flustered and passionate, everything the Kommissar is not.  
Her logic is swayed by emotion, and her temper rages like a volcano, mouth spewing words like lava.  
So different from the Kommissar's calculated ice, words falling from her tongue as softly as snowflakes, freezing everything they touch.  
Beca is different.  
Plain and simple.  
Except nothing about her is plain or simple.  
She's a weird mix of complexities and contradictions.  
It should annoy Luisa to no end, but it doesn't.  
Instead, she craves her presence like nothing else.  
She barely even knows the girl. That doesn't mean she doesn't want her.

In her mind, she makes a list of pros and cons for pursuing such a relationship.  
It's tied.  
Her thoughts keep clashing, she can't make a final decision, and everything's just too _loud-_ when suddenly her treadmill stops.  
She nearly flies forward at the abrupt halt, but strong arms catch her from behind. She collapses into them, breathing heavily.  
"Luisa, you've been sprinting for 20 minutes straight."  
It's Pieter, her lieutenant, her constant companion, her best friend.  
"Do not wear yourself out, competition is today." She nods, still clasped in his arms.  
Her shaking hands reach up to grip the hands holding her fast, her head falling back onto his shoulder. His beating heart is slow and steady compared to hers, she tries to slow her ragged breathing to match his.  
His cheek rests lightly on her sweaty blonde hair, calming her racing mind.  
He does not speak, does not ask the reason for her distress.  
She loves him for it.  
It's a safe love, the familiar kind.  
The kind she understands.  
"Thank you." She whispers, her throat burning, he hands her a water bottle as she steps away from him.  
She drinks from it greedily, her raw throat soothed from the cold water.  
"Luisa, you don't have to earn it." Pieter says as he hands her a towel.  
"What?" Her voice is muffled as she wipes her face.  
"The kleine maus' affections, you don't have to earn them."  
Her hands still, there's a pause before she pulls the towel away, almost but not quite glaring at her lieutenant.  
"I am not discussing this with you." She says, the redness in her cheeks now not only from exercise.  
"Good, don't speak. Because you need to listen." She crosses her arms defensively but lets him continue.  
"You have earned everything you've ever had, and it is most admirable, but you don't have to work for love. Not this time."  
"She doesn't love me."  
"But she wants the chance to. And so do you. So accept the opportunity."  
She opens her mouth to protest, he hugs her, a mouthful of his t-shirt silencing her.  
"Luisa, you stubborn moose. Everyone deserves happiness, you are not the singular exemption to that. So if you must work for something, work for happiness. You've already earned it."  
"When did you get so wise?" She grumbles, Pieter's laugh is soft.  
"Must have been around the same time I became devilishly handsome. It is both a blessing, and a curse. Now come along, my Kommissar, we have a competition to win."

* * *

They do not win.  
She should be upset, angry perhaps, at the very least she should be calculating how to win next year.  
All she feels is some kind of despair.  
Her maus is leaving.

* * *

She's pacing in an empty tent, waiting for Pieter. He had said he needed to get something before they could leave for the after party.  
So she's waiting.  
And Pieter is taking his sweet time.  
"I mean it, you giant meat brick! Put me down!" A certain brunette Bella is pushed into the tent, the curtain serving as a door is pulled shut tightly after her. Luisa curses Pieter under her breath, of course this was the _something_ he needed to get.  
"Kleine maus, congratulations on your win tonight." She says, Beca backs up a little.  
"What is going on? Oh my god, is this a set up? Are you going to sharpie my face or something? Come on, lose with a little dignity!" Beca's hands fly up to shield her face as she tries to make herself as little a target as possible.  
Nothing happens.  
"Sharpie your face?" Luisa asks, confused.  
"Um, you know, when people draw stupid things on your face in permanent marker?" Beca says, straightening and fixing her hair, embarrassed.  
"Ah yes, I understand." Luisa says with a nod, though not really understanding at all.  
An awkward silence falls.  
Crickets chirp.  
"So-" Luisa is interrupted by thin lips kissing her.  
Beca pulls away first, Luisa's still frozen in shock.  
"Don't say anything yet," Beca says quickly. "Just hear me out. I'm not good at this, but I like you. In a way I can't explain or even comprehend. You invade my thoughts constantly and as hard as I try I can't resist being drawn to you. Don't freak out, I don't need some big commitment, I don't even know you really, but I want to. And I want you to know me." She breathes deeply once she's gotten all her practiced words out.  
The silence is back.  
"So…yeah." Beca says, her hands swinging back and forth nervously.  
Luisa racks her brain for a proper response, shock addling her thought process.  
Words fly around her mind like a whirlwind and ice starts to overwhelm her system again when she finally looks at Beca.  
The small girl is biting her lip in nervous doubt, but her eyes shine with a suppressed, fragile hope.  
She's so beautiful, so strong in a way that's completely foreign to Luisa.  
It stirs her, melting the ice enough for her to say-  
"Yes." She blurts out, the word bursting with a passion she didn't know she possessed.  
"Yes?" Beca asks, something akin to disbelief coloring her tone.  
As if hearing Luisa's simple answer is a miracle.  
"Yes." She repeats, kissing the word into the Bella's lips.  
She tastes like uncertainty and fear and hope and endless possibilities.  
She tastes like cherries.  
But mostly, she tastes like victory.

"Kommissar?" Beca asks, pulling away from bliss for a moment to breathe.  
"Kleine maus?"  
"What's your name?" A chuckle, then the tenderest of kisses to the nose.  
"It's Luisa."  
"Hi Luisa."  
"Hello Beca."

* * *

Life after Worlds is not perfect, there's still fire and ice and awkwardness, but it is so, so much better.  
Tentatively, they learn each other.  
They learn each other's favorite things and hated things and how they prefer breakfast in the morning.  
They learn how to live with each other.  
They learn to love each other.  
And one ordinary, completely fantastical day, Beca tells Luisa she loves her.  
Luisa, with conviction pulsing through every fiber of her being, says she loves Beca back.  
And on that day, Luisa cries.


End file.
